One more thing. I wish I had the balls to say things like, "You sure had your tits in a twist over him!" Maybe it's not balls but the feeling of illegitimacy when trading in American vernacular that prevents me from saying things like that. (Cf. my inability to greet the Bronx Leadership Academy custodian with the greeting that my more socially fluent friend Karin used, "Mikey-Mike, hot pants!" and instead stiffly extending a "Hello, Mike.") Whatever it is, goddammit I don't have it.
The immigrants' child once again casts herself as victim, hangs her head begging sympathy, and keeps an eye peeled to make sure she's getting it.
Friday, November 25, 2005
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